


Darker Recesses

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: BDSM, Dark, Dehumanization, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Domestication, F/M, Forced Feminization, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Porn, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Slavery, The Author Has Mental Issues, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander isn't the same needy, neglected kid he was in high school. He's almost thirty, now, and he's figured out how to manage his own life to a point where he could maybe even say he was happy. Or at least close to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING THIS STORY.
> 
> Seriously. Themes are dark, including slavery, sexual ownership, domestication and dehumanization, forced feminization, dirty talk, plus basically whatever else I feel like throwing into this story. It is, therefore, basically one long non-con/rape fic. If that is triggery to you, please please do not read. This is meant as a dark sex-fantasy and nothing more. I do not, and would never, condone these things in real life.
> 
> I'll be updating on a random schedule (if you know me and my work you know how damn random that is). This story is mostly a way for me to vent some stress.
> 
> Now that everyone has run away, here have some set up with basically no sex in it.

It's a barn.  
  
Xander glances down at his letter of invite again just in case he's in the wrong place. Nope, the address matches right down to the GPS hash marks that he's sadly starting to be able to translate without the aid of a smart phone.  
  
It's a  _big_  barn, Xander notes, strolling up the gravel walkway to the brightly lit entrance. There's the faint hint of noise, the chatter and clatter of people moving around; it's well muffled, which speaks to clever architecture, leaving just enough noise to confirm that he's not walking into an empty, cavernous trap.  
  
Well, it could still be a trap. In fact it was likely a trap. But the noise would be reassuring to other potential buyers.  
  
 _Buyers_. God.  _You should go check it out_ , Giles had said, ever more distant and distracted. He still cares. Xander is sure of it. But his cares are so scattered that he has to pick and choose the ones who matter. As Xander lacks the requisite magical Slaying ability -- not that he hasn't taken out his fair share of demons -- plus the girl parts, he's getting the short end of the stick.  
  
It's annoying but not unexpected. Xander isn't the same needy, neglected kid he was in high school. He's almost thirty, now, and he's figured out how to manage his own life to a point where he could maybe even say he was happy. Or at least close to it.  
  
The closer he gets to the barn the more he hears noise. Talking, definitely, one voice louder than the others with an electronic flatness that means it's amplified by a microphone of some sort. The shuffling of bodies on what is definitely straw -- Xander is trying desperately not to sneeze -- and the clink of glasses.  
  
Well. Some of it's glasses.  
  
By now the barn is pretty damn massive and a lot closer to the convention-center like size he'd been expecting. There's a tall, broad man waiting in the spill of golden light at the entrance. A bouncer, of course, and Xander assesses him silently as his invitation is scrutinized. There's definitely a tang of demon about him, which means Xander doesn't want to pick a fight if he doesn't have to -- but not much more than a tang. The muscles are big, but they're gym-muscles. The kind someone gets playing with weights instead of actual work, actual fighting.  
  
Xander could take him.  
  
Xander doesn't want to take him, though, and smiles politely when he's nodded inside -- where he promptly sneezes three times in a row.  
  
Yup. Definitely a barn. Definitely filled with people too, as a good two thirds of them look over to see the idiot who just bumbled through. Great. Xander straightens, trying to figure out how he can smooth this over so he can do what he came over, when a small noise at his feet makes him look down.  
  
There's a girl. Kneeling. A thick leather collar wraps around her throat, a chain dangling down between very naked breasts. The rest of her is naked too, easily determined since she kneels with her legs spread wide.  
  
She's holding up a tissue box.  
  
Xander takes it, blows his nose. He thinks for a split second about finding a garbage can before he realizes that would only make it worse.  
  
Plus, he doesn't  _want_  to find a garbage can. He wants to do exactly what he does -- drop the used tissue on the floor with the full knowledge that the girl at his feet will snatch it up and deal with it.  
  
She does.  
  
 _Thank you_  is another automatic response that Xander swallows down. Instead he pats the girl's head and saunters inside the barn.  
  
It's lit with simulated candles, the flickering glow pleasant and bright without any fear of fire to disturb the guests. There are many of those guests, milling around in their finery as they chat and laugh. Xander himself is in a tux -- tailored, of course -- and he moves in it with a confidence that comes of wearing it many times, in many situations just like this.  
  
Okay, not  _exactly_  like this. Normally when Xander goes to functions this fancy it's because of politics, something he's discovered he's good at. He goes to wheel and deal in ways high school Xander never dreamed of doing, certain beyond measure that nothing in this room can truly hurt him -- not really, not in ways he hasn't been before -- and most of these people, even the demons, should be fearful of  _him_.  
  
This isn't normally. Scattered throughout the open floor of the barn are stanchions. They look almost like a ballet barres, maybe five feet in length, about a tenth of that in circumference, made of wood and bolted into the floor at either end. Each one contains two pieces of merchandise, strapped so that it's bent over the stanchion, open and completely exposed.  
  
Xander wanders towards the closest one and lays a hand on the prettier one hanging on the left. "Trouble with this one?" he asks.  
  
"Oh, no." Like magic -- Xander mentally chuckles -- the unsurprisingly oily, obsequious host of tonight's event appears. "Not at all. Why do you ask?"  
  
Xander lets his hand go lower, over reddened strips that are still hot to the touch. "These, for starters."  
  
The Host chuckles meanly. "Merely a demonstration for one of the guests."  
  
"Mm. Too bad I missed it," Xander says, smiling with dismissive politeness.  
  
The Host bows slightly and drifts away -- literally. Where feet should be is instead a powdery, shifting mass that never seems to coalesce into a recognizable form.  
  
Xander dismisses it and turns back to the first piece of merchandise on display.  
  
A girl. With ropes binding her wrists to her knees, hair pulled back so that she's held, unable to move as people inspect her.  
  
Or any of the other livestock that the guests are surveying.  
  
Xander casually pats the behind of the girl he'd been fondling -- it bites back a gasp, body jerking in pain -- and starts wandering through the room. He stops to speak with the few people he knows, casually drifts in and out of conversations with those he doesn't. It's networking, easy for him to accomplish. He does gain a little bit of knowledge about something going on in Sudan, but there's always something going on in Sudan. Xander can pass that on with a hope Council will get to it.  
  
Unlikely, but there's always a hope.  
  
Either way, It's enough information to justify the effort to get this invite in the first place. That's all he needs, really. That first foot in the door to get what it is he really wants.  
  
Along the wall are cages stacked two high, four by five metal contraptions that look like every kennel cage Xander's ever seen. Most are empty, waiting, but a few already have occupants curled up tightly. Purchased livestock. Xander admires a particularly fine selection, all golden tan skin and pouty red lips. "Someone is going to enjoy you," he tells it.  
  
It. In this place, this realm that Xander is flirting with, these purchases are definitely an it. Livestock to be bought and traded, released and recaptured -- Hunger Games didn't come from nothing -- and used however their owners saw fit.  
  
Exactly what Xander wants.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING THIS STORY.
> 
> Seriously. Themes are dark, including slavery, sexual ownership, domestication and dehumanization, forced feminization, dirty talk, plus basically whatever else I feel like throwing into this story. It is, therefore, basically one long non-con/rape fic. If that is triggery to you, please please do not read. This is meant as a dark sex-fantasy and nothing more. I do not, and would never, condone these things in real life.
> 
> I'll be updating on a random schedule (if you know me and my work you know how damn random that is). This story is mostly a way for me to vent some stress.

The desire isn't a new one. Even as he grew up, Xander had always been drawn to certain types of magazines, certain types of porn videos that he'd scurried away in places not even Willow could find. Older now, wiser, with money in the bank and experience settling his limbs, Xander is finally ready to give in to this particular desire he has.

Finally, Xander is going to buy himself a pet.

After almost an hour of examining the wares in the main part of the barn, he heads towards the area with stalls. The fiestier animals are kept here, which Xander translates to demons. About half the guests were demonic in nature, he guesses, and the other half were probably in the know.

Or maybe not. The last person he'd spoken to, a gentleman with iron grey hair and a presence that had the two pets at his feet cringing and broken, had been totally human and totally oblivious to the weirder aspects of this particular sales event -- and not that his pets had been two boys, once upon a time. Now they were just pets and totally devoted to the man who held their leash.

Xander wants that. Badly.

The stalls are wide and spacious but it's darker here. Easier to hide the livestock that started out life as something definitely not human. There are creatures with horns or scales or extra limbs. Tentacles, and Xander spends a good few moments leaning on the stall's railing, examining the creature suspended in the middle of the stall, two of its tentacles writhing.

Hentai is totally a thing that Xander knows, after all. It's... appealing.

But not what he wants.

No, Xander finds that about halfway down the stalls. Suspended a few feet off the ground, ropes pull arms and legs into a perfect X shape. Its head is down, eyes half shut as it rides out whatever punishment or pleasure that had been forced into it.

Xander opens the stall door. Like the signal it no doubt is, the Host comes back with his slimy smiles -- and slimy not-there feet -- and leans against the outer stall. "Now this is a fine choice," the Host says. "One of our prizes."

"It's been hobbled?"

"Of course, of course," the Host nods. "Like all our wares, of course."

Xander had spent a few moments fondling a particularly lovely piece for sale. Its body had been lithe but so slender that bones showed through, its low cries delightful as Xander had rubbed it from head to toe, paying particular attention to nipples and a damp pussy.

Maybe he would get a herd. Xander had come here with the intention of buying only one pet for his house, but the array of choices made him doubt. A herd had the potential of making sure no one was too lonely when he was out, and Xander was often out. His position with Council kept him busy traveling, schmoozing.

Then again, he could always take his new pet with him. Just because Xander preferred it on a leash and at his feet didn't mean he couldn't tell it to stand on two feet and pretend that it wasn't just an animal that Xander had to train and keep.

"Feel free to examine it," the Host says, interrupting Xander's thoughts. "This one had struggled long before it accepted training. A true gem."

Xander enters the stall, his feet rustling against the hay that covered the base of it. A mean trick that Xander approves of. After all, the body hanging before him is truly livestock now. An inhuman pet with no mind but obedience.

Or so is the claim.

The animal's flank is pale and smooth when Xander touches it. Cool, but not cold. Nice. Pulling on nipples makes it jerk slightly, swaying in its bonds, but there's not so much as a sound from those too-pink lips. Xander tugs again, enjoying the motion, then grips and squeezes, kneading less to hurt and more to soothe.

_That_ provokes a response. A soft, barely there breath that really is a moan.

This animal, like all the livestock on sale, is stripped naked. As Xander touches it, rubbing over ass and down its legs, then up to where the leather cups its neck, its cock begins to harden.

"Nice," Xander approves, rubbing his thumb beneath the head. "Responsive."

"A built in feature," the Host oozes.

That doesn't surprise Xander at all. He continues to rub until the head of the cock is shiny and slick. Then he lets go and returns to his exploration. In movies and books they spoke of checking a horse over -- all the parts that could be bad, measures of speed or strength, of the things that would make it worth buying. Xander does the same with about the same level of attention. Not covetous or eager; just considering.

Xander's pretty sure he spent more time fondling the giant flat screen he owns, honestly.

Circling back around to the front, Xander tips its head up so he can look. Blue eyes flit up to his for just a moment, then drop back down.

"Is it drugged?"

"At first tranquilizers and... other serums were used," the Host explains, quicker now that he senses a sale. "But nearly all have left its system. By the time you reach your destination it will be pure."

"I'll be doing my own tests to make sure."

"Of course, of _course_. A thorough inspection is included in the costs. Any defects or displeasure and the animal is returnable."

Xander nods. He is going to buy this one. It's why he's here, after all. He can't wait to take it home, to see it crawl through his house, hands and knees hobbled, his own collar around its neck, a chain hanging down that gorgeous back. Just thinking about it makes Xander hard, his slacks cool against his sensitive cock.

Underwear leaves lines, after all, and a tux requires the utmost presentation.

Xander ignores his hard on. He's hardly the only one. 

Cupping the animal's neck, Xander forces its head up again, thumbing over those soft, so damnably soft lips, and over the blade of its cheekbones. He'd always wanted to touch there.

The price he quotes is higher than market value. The Host still haggles, still disgustingly eager and fake, but Xander knows the worth of what he's buying. He knows _how_ to bargain, time spent in countries where the mall was an alley stuffed with tables and faded clothes that only barely covered the wares underneath, the ringing cries of hawkers and bargainers, the stink of too much humanity. There Xander had honed his skills to an edge much sharper than the cheekbones he still rubs.

The transaction takes all of five minutes before the Host says, "Agreed."

"I'll want to purchase another one, maybe two. I'm thinking of starting a herd."

"We have excellent cows for sale. If you'll follow me? Your pet will be set up while we look. Are you looking for an additional fuck-toy, or perhaps something more menial? We have animals that are strictly trained for either -- or both, of course. It's always good to have two. Beyond sharing duties and making certain that one of them is always available, competition can be be wonderful. Have you ever seen two cows try to wrestle for dominance?"

He hasn't.

The Host smiles and gestures towards a room Xander hadn't noticed where grunts and groans rise like fresh baked bread.

In the end, Xander purchases only one more animal. They're loaded into the same metal crate, naked skin obvious as they crouch down on their knees, backs bent. Xander can't help but walk up to the female and reach through the bars to slide two fingers up its cunt. He rubs back and forth until it starts to pant, body trembling with the effort of staying in position. "Good girl," he tells it, pleased when it jerks like it wants to come, breath gone shuddery and staccato. "Don't come. Not until I tell you to."

When he moves back to the front of the cage it looks up at Xander with a worshipful expression.

Xander smiles. "You're very well trained, aren't you? Content to be exactly what you are. A trio of holes, plus whatever else I tell you to be. The Host said that you worked in a restaurant for a few years, before you ended up here. That's good. You'll do a lot of serving. Your name is Bessy. I may change it. I'm really not sure if I want a herd or a litter."

It nods to show it heard, eyes trained on Xander. 

Next he turns to his real goal. He reaches through the bars again, cupping the face he spent far too many years watching, cursing, and generally trying to ignore. A beautiful face, really, particularly when he pushes his two sticky fingers into its mouth, those pouty pink lips ovaling as it sucks. "I'm not sure what to name you yet. I'm certainly not calling you the nickname you chose. There isn't a 'you' anymore. You're whatever I want. A pair of holes, definitely, but so much more. An indestructible toy. I'm going to have so much fun playing with you."

This one isn't as vacant and adoring as the other, but Xander still smirks a little as he watches its eyes. They were always so expressive, back when it called itself Spike and strutted and postured and posed his way through the world. The Big Bad.

Now it's nothing. An piece of property. Xander says that out loud, still watching its stormy blue eyes. There's enough of a hint of anger, of self beneath all that training. Good, Xander thinks and removes his wet fingers, wiping them dry on smooth skin.

"Load them up," he tells the waiting animals. These are trusted enough to walk on two legs, operating the machines that lift the cage onto the back of Xander's truck. It's covered, a dark sun-reflective cloth like birds have to tell them when it's time to sleep. A perfectly apt use of it here as Xander lifts it up enough to stroke heads that are pushed to the floor of the cage, the other ends still held high.

"Good positions," he tells them, petting the female animal until it hums. "Stay like this until I get you two home."

They won't be able to, of course. The bumpy roads, the hour long trip, the wind sheering through cloth that is meant to protect them from eyes, not from elements -- of course they won't be able to stay in position.

Good, Xander thinks, and turns the engine on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander goes home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAME WARNINGS APPLY. Now with actual sex and seriously, if you find anything verging on non-con and degrading triggery, _do not read_.
> 
> For the rest of us who find it hot as hell, I hope this qualifies.

"Did you find him?" Giles asks.

"What, I don't even rate a hello?"

In truth, Xander doesn't. He doesn't mind. The Scooby Gang isn't what it was and never would be again. Adults aren't like children and all of them have undergone too many metamorphoses to recognize themselves. 

"Hello, Xander," Giles says, sounding tired. "Did you -- "

"Found i--him. We're almost home. I'll take care of him."

"Very well. You have all the supplies you need?"

Xander's two bedroom house is modest but serviceable. Particularly when he made all those alterations to the basement.

"I have an entire stand-alone freezer stocked with blood, plus a standing order with a local butcher. It'll be fine."

"You know you have to keep him there."

No good planning, Xander, or well done, Xander. Annoying, but useful since Xander isn't bringing home the slightly damaged vampire they all expect. "Well aware, G-man. It'll be like high school all over again."

"I shudder to think. Good luck, Xander."

Xander turns the phone off without saying goodbye. Safely parked in his garage, he allows himself a moment to lean back in the seat of his car, breathing steadily to get himself under control. He is definitely prepared for this moment. He has been ever since he found out just who might have captured Spike and what they were doing with him. 

Such a perfect opportunity.

The urge to push one of them into position and fuck it until he comes isn't as overwhelming as he expected. Oh, it's there. A steady, tight heat that licks along his spine. It's just not so overpowering he does it. Instead he's able to walk without a heavy boner tenting his pants to the back of the truck. He flicks the blanket off to reveal a tumble of wind-swept, disoriented, frightened animals, nervously looking around their new home.

Xander tsks. "Not a good start, disobeying a simple command like _stay_. Clearly the Host lied about your training."

Neither animal flinched but the sense they wanted to is strong enough that Xander can nearly smell it, ozone and sharp and pretty.

"Good thing I don't mind." Opening the gate, Xander is pleased when neither animal tries to get out. They stay in their awkward tumble, legs akimbo and held painfully against the too-small cage.

Modern art. That's what it looks like, the gleam of the silver cage against pale skin and desperate eyes. The female leaks a few tears -- it is pressed closest to the top of the cage, balanced only on a knee that is desperate to give out. Xander studies it with a tilted head and slow, steady breathing, enjoying the way the skin turns red with effort.

"You're going to look so pretty tied up," he tells it, voice rough. Pleased, though. So very pleased. "All right. Out, onto the floor."

That takes a while. Poor pretzled bodies, bruised and battered on the long ride home, don't unknot all that easily. Xander leans against the rear bumper of his truck and doesn't bother to hide how much he enjoys watching. Spike is graceful, as usual, but he -- it, Xander reminds himself -- takes care not to push too hard against its companion as they play a combination of Twister and Operation.

In his hand, Xander idly thumbs a switch.

Spike _whines_. Not cries, not yells, not even yelps the way he had a few times back when he really was a he. A straight up whine. Like a wounded dog.

If it were a dog, Xander would probably feel bad about it. He doesn't like hurting animals.

Good thing Spike isn't actually an animal.

Eventually, after some more whines -- not all of them caused by the new and improved chip in Spike's head -- and a lot of bitten off grunts and groans, the female squeezes through the opening of the cage and tumbles onto the floor.

Xander crouches next to it. Dusty, dirty, aching from the fall -- it still manages to turn towards Xander, eyes properly lowered. "Good girl," he says, reaching out to fondle its breast, squeezing it until its back lifts off the floor, breathing increased. " _Very_ good girl. You know that all the women in my life have had small breasts? I'm going to have fun playing with these. Maybe I'll milk them," he decides, idly working his hands in almost hypnotic grasp and relax patterns, like kneading but with far too much pressure. "Tie them up until they're red, held out on display for me to touch whenever I feel like. I _know_ you'll like it too, won't you? Such a good girl, Bessy. A good cow."

By the end of his little fantasy Xander's knees ache. He pushes himself upright. Spike has left the cage but is carefully hanging on to the end of the truck bed, eyeing the distance to the ground.

Almost like it is going to disobey.

The device Xander holds is small with comfortable dips for his fingers. It feels almost warm to the touch. Xander lifts it so that Spike can see, caught by the motion the way any predator might.

Too bad right now Spike is nothing more than prey. Worse, he's _caught_ prey. Already devoured.

"This is a lovely little toy that I paid extra for. And oh, I paid for you. Council spent months trying to track you down, then months more trying to figure out what they were going to do now that they'd found you. How to get you, if they should. I was the one who argued you should be recaptured. I was the one who made sure that you would be chipped again."

Xander moves closer, breathing hard. Everything about this is making his blood _sing_. On the truck, Spike hasn't moved, its blond head bowed in supplication -- but its shoulders are tight. All that lovely muscle drawn in unbearable tension under skin Xander knew long before _this_ happened was unimaginably soft.

Nearly hissing, Xander continues. "But not like before, oh no. You'll hurt when I want you to. Whenever I choose. It has nothing to do with your intent. _I_ decide. When you hurt... and when you feel good."

The difference is minute but Xander's practiced it a lot. A _lot_. Just a tiny little flick and Spike bucks, naked hips working as its cock is pressed into the raised rubber bedding. That has to be painful, and sure enough Spike finally lifts his head to show off that truly agonized expression.

" _So_ pretty," Xander coos. "So very pretty." He releases the device and leans back, free hand rubbing against the fly of his pants. There's no way he's going to last that much longer.

Good thing it doesn't matter.

"Get down," he says to Spike.

Another of those delightful little whines rises up even as Spike falls down into a heap of limbs tangled like a puppets wood and string, flopped together when released. 

Really, it's just like importing a museum into his house. Willow has been after him for years to put more life on his walls. Who needs that when he can have it on his _floor_?

The cold sterility of the garage isn't where he wants his new prizes placed, however.

Unfurling his leashes makes Bessy shiver. Xander laughs, clipping her after a hard yank to her head. It breathes heavily as he manhandles it into position, heavy breasts swaying. "You're just desperate for it, aren't you? I wonder what they dosed you with. Oh, don't fuss. I know they did. You aren't _that_ well trained. But don't worry," he adds, smiling. "We'll fix that."

The first floor of Xander's two-story home is completely open plan. There's not a wall to hide the sight of his small kitchen, living room, and the two small wire cages against the wall. They're smaller than the ones used for display back at the... well, _store_ for lack of a better word. The kind meant for dogs no larger than a labrador and probably a lot smaller.

He really is going to have to sort out the pack vs herd issue. Although the temptation to make Bessy moo as it crawls behind him, skidding on the linoleum before it becomes softer carpet, those hypnotically large breasts and soft pink aureoles, is pretty damn high. Maybe that decides the issue?

Or maybe he doesn't have to decide. He can change his mind as often as he wants because he _owns_ these lovely creatures. Watching them move with that jerky, awkward sort of grace that is a human form on all fours has Xander shivering, breathing through his mouth while his pants visibly tent. He owns them the way he owns the toast gleaming on the kitchen counter, the battered refrigerator beside it.

They may be naked, scuffed, bruised, and covered with dirt -- but they're _his_.

It turns his the half-hard erection he'd nursed for hours completely full.

Idly, still mostly considering his newest good fortune, Xander reaches down to grab the base of the leash, right where it links to the collar, on his male. He yanks and enjoys immensely the way that normally lithe body flails, spastic and out of control, before settling in a heap that is mostly on its knees.

Sort of.

Enough that when Xander uses his other hand to open his pants, his dick practically falls into its mouth. "That's right," he sighs, sliding in on pink lips and a soft, velvet tongue. "That's what was missing. Suck me in, toy, take all of it. I know you can deep throat don't pretend to choke around my cock. Open. Good girl."

 _That_ causes the first reaction. It accepts Xander's cock easily enough, throat opening with a low hum that Xander feels far more than he hears, lovely lips stretched tight as they slide almost to the base of Xander's straining cock. It's simple and easy. A hole that Xander can fuck any time he feels like it because that is exactly what it's for.

His toaster crisps, his oven warms, his toys accept his cock and come with due eagerness.

But calling it a _girl_ \-- that's something else.

Xander's grin is lazy, mean. "Didn't you know? You're fuckmeat. You're nothing but a pair of holes. I'm sure they told you. I know _I_ told you. You're a cunt, and you're going to swallow all of my cock like a good girl or I'm going to make you scream. Well. Longer than I planned."

Blue eyes that Xander hasn't seen in over five years darken with something that definitely isn't lust.

Xander just grins and fucks in harder. He doesn't have it bound, not yet. He will. He's got lots of things planned for his newest acquisitions, but right now -- well. Right now he's tired from the road, exhausted from the thrill of what's been finally finished, and he just wants to get off.

He grabs its ears and fucks into that soft mouth, moaning when it opens just a little wider, throat unlocking. "Fuck, yeah, good cocksucker. Want that cock to fill you up, don't you, slut? Probably thought about it the moment you saw me, wondering if you'd get to wrap that pretty mouth around my cock and suck like the whore you are."

A thousand more dirty things want to be aired only Xander's previous guess that Spike sucked cock like a dream is actually coming true. The naked, kneeling, overbalanced but struggling creature beneath him does indeed take cock like it was made for it. Like it _loves_ it.

Then he gets the bright idea of grabbing the collar again and using that to force it down until it chokes not only on cock but his balls and Xander comes so hard he nearly falls down.

Good thing he's got something to grab and lean on, pushing cock and come deep into its throat until it has to swallow or risk choking -- the lack of needing to breathe doesn't mean the instinct is gone, after all.

"Fuck," he pants, again. "Oh fuck, I needed that. Good girl. Good comeslut. Gonna make use of that mouth often. Maybe chain you up by the door when I go to work so when I come home. the first thing I'll do is open my pants and fuck your wide open mouth. You'd like that, hunh? Would you?"

The slip into a tone better suited to encouraging a puppy isn't conscious. Xander does note with extreme interest that it seems to react that very favorably, shivering and pushing up into the hand.

"Cocksucking bitch," he tries, almost fondly if one were to ignore the absolute sincerity that runs sludge-like and gritty underneath. "Such a fuck-whore. Yeah, you're gonna enjoy this aren't you."

It lifts its head into Xander's hand, butting at the palm wet mouth and sloppy chin gleaming. It looks almost happy.

The drugs, probably. Xander can't wait for them to wear off.

Calmer now that he's taken the edge off, Xander steps all the way out of his pants and reaches behind him where a bag full of goodies has patiently waited for use.

Appropos, Xander thinks and shoves a bright red ball gag bigger than his fist into its mouth, wrapping it around that defined face and the still white-blond hair.

Getting the gag in place takes effort. And pain, according to the wincing groans it hastily tries to muffle.

Xander's half hard again before he finishes. "You look gorgeous. Like the perfect comedoll you are. Into your cage, now."

The one who used to be Spike crawls into the bottom cage, forced to curl up with its knees against its chest, watching with a sort of forlorn kind of nervousness as Xander rescues Bessy's leash, slapping the end against its ample ass.

"You," he snaps, "moo."

Bessy does, eagerly, knowing damn well that for every moo it makes that's one more second it doesn't get the gag that would probably break _its_ jaw. It doesn't stop when Xander starts slapping its unpainted face, watching each jiggle and sway of its udders.

It's nice to be home.


End file.
